


Campfire

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Also There Are S'mores, Dolls Can Breathe Fire So Can We Please Collectively Agree To Talk About That More, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 09:23:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11643639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: Sitting sideways in her chair, she rests her head in the palm of her hand and clears her throat, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for… a while.”It’s a small motion but she doesn’t miss the way his eyes flick away from her.  “What?”“Like, with the fire breathing—can you control that?” she asks, unable to fully hide the excitement in her voice.  “’Cause that would beso cool.”





	Campfire

Arms heavy with junk food, Wynonna stares at the baby monitor and tries to work out how she’s gonna get it from the coffee table to the firepit without having to make two trips.  It takes a little creative bending, some light cursing, and a whole lotta luck, but she manages to carry it out with the antenna clutched between the ring and middle fingers of her right hand, kicking the door closed behind her as gently as she can.  Dolls is stoking the fire with a stick almost as tall as he is, and he cocks a brow at her as she dumps everything into an empty chair.

“Did you think the two of us needed the _entire supply_ of potato chips from the supermarket?” he asks blandly.

“Yes, I absolutely did,” she says, firm and trying not to smile.  She fails.  She accepts it.  “I also have stuff for s’mores.”

His brows knit a little.  “S’mores.”

With a quick look around to make sure she’s not, like, being punk’d, she explains, “You know, graham crackers, chocolate, ooey-gooey marshmallow?”

“I—I’m familiar with the concept,” he sighs on a laugh. 

His silence stretches a little and she tilts her head.  “Wait—are you familiar with the _concept_ or have you actually _made_ s’mores?” she demands, eyes narrowed.

Now, he’s full-on frowning when he replies, “I’ve made s’mores—just, like, in the microwave.  Once, in the oven, and I almost burnt the house down.”

“Oh, well, we’re doing them the right way,” she says, voice not quite as even as she wishes, but there’s always that cheesy, like… starburst of delight in her chest whenever he willingly shares something not devastating.  She turns away to smile like an _idiot_ to herself and tears into the marshmallows.  Popping one into her mouth, she spears a couple onto wooden sticks.  “So, how do you make s’mores in the microwave?”

“Carefully,” he replies seriously.

So much for sharing.

She watches him torch his first marshmallow, trades it out with her own nicely golden one because she doesn’t mind it burnt.  While he tries to eat without making a huge mess, Wynonna digs in head on, not caring that her fingers come away sticky.  Sitting sideways in her chair, she rests her head in the palm of her hand and clears her throat, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for… a while.”

It’s a small motion but she doesn’t miss the way his eyes flick away from her.  “What?”

“Like, with the fire breathing—can you control that?” she asks, unable to fully hide the excitement in her voice.  “’Cause that would be _so cool_.”

She worries she’s said something wrong when his eyes go clouded and his mouth goes tense, but he only answers, “I don’t know—I didn’t even know I could _do_ that until…”

“Chargrilled demon, right,” she nods.  “So, like, you haven’t even _tried_ since then?”

“Been a little busy!” he laughs with mock offense. 

“That’s you and me, right there,” she teases, bouncing her foot as she hears a whimper from the baby monitor.  It quiets down fairly quickly, though.  “I woulda made breathing fire a priority.”

The look he gives her is considering and careful and she doesn’t know what to make of it when he stands and walks past her to stab his kebab into another marshmallow.  There’s a giddy sort of quiver in her gut when his lips twist and he eyes it.  Turning in her chair to see him better, she watches him take a few steps further, faces the fire, and takes a deep breath.  She grabs a bag of jalapeno chips and leans forward, elbows on her knees.  He exhales slowly, and for a while it’s just him _breathing_ on the marshmallow.  It’s actually kinda hilarious, and she stuffs a handful of chips into her mouth to keep from laughing.  But then she hears this rumbling, soft and deep and it almost doesn’t register.  His breath mists and then it _smokes_ and the rumbling has gotten louder, and she digs the toes of her boots into the snow and probably is enjoying this more than is appropriate. 

The first one is a little fireball—it overshoots the marshmallow, but it’s _awesome_.  His eyes widen _just_ a little bit and she sees them flick over to her and she laughs.  The next one is a little more intense, a continuous stream of fire, and she’s aware she’s gaping but _holy shit_ because he’s _literally breathing fire_ and it dies out soon.  She doesn’t even remember standing, but she’s on her feet and stepping closer, and all she can see is his bright smile, eyes wide with amazement, and when he laughs little flames lick at his lips.  He eats the charred marshmallow in one bite, and it smells like burnt sugar.

When she kisses him, it tastes overly sweet right on a bitter edge of fire and burning, lips not so hot as to hurt—warm like a mug of fresh coffee, and she can feel him grin into it.

“You are _so_ hot,” she says as earnestly as she can.

**Author's Note:**

> Pbthbthbthbth, back to self-indulgent ficlets about kissing and not much else because I have feelings.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading and swing by my [Tumblr](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com) where I cry so, so much about these nerds.


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